Cases
by sana-chan9
Summary: John is feeling a bit useless and so Sherlock does Sherlocky things to make up for it.
1. Chapter 1

This is a one shot and is probably short. Ehh.

I don't own any of these characters.

Thank youuu~!

It's a surprise for nosparkswithoutfire

AN: this is kind of rushed. MY BADDD

oOoOo

There is an age gap.

And while it isn't _that_ big (_Yes it is, Sherlock. Don't try to make me feel any younger because it's not working._) John still worries about it from time to time.

Like now. Sherlock's got a case that forces him to go to a club. A club. A _fucking_ club.

"No."

"John, it's-"

"No."

"_Jooooooohn_." Sherlock whined, sending a full-force pout in his direction. It was ignored, of course. Living with Sherlock for years has taught him how to ignore the pouts and say no. Living with Sherlock has also taught him how to put his foot down and damn near get the man to do anything John wants.

Unless it involves a case but those don't count. Yet.

"Sherlock," John started, crossing his arms and giving him the no-nonsense look. "I won't go. I _can't_ go. You'll be fine on your own, right? It's not like this is a dangerous case, I mean the man's got a damn potbelly the size of _Jupiter_ and, well-"

He paused at Sherlock's confused look.

"No..." John looked at him closely, the way Sherlock does when he's deducing things. Needless to say it unnerves Sherlock greatly.

"John, what are you talking about?" Sherlock mumbles, looking anywhere but at John and giving himself away immediately.

"Do you not know what Jupiter is?" John attempts to hide a smile. It doesn't work.

"It's a bleeding _planet_, John. Of _course_ I know what it is." Sherlock sighs, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

"How big is it in relation to Earth?"

"That is irrelevant." Sherlock frowned, drawing his bottom lip in to nibble at it. He's learned over the years what does and does not distract John, and that was very high on the distractible list.

"No it's not and stop trying to distract me. You don't know diddly-shit about Jupiter and I'm not going to that awful club with you." John snapped, immediately noticing Sherlock's shocked look. "Damnit, that sounded bad. Sorry, love." John paused, placing a hand on his lover's cheek. "I really can't go, though. It's not believable for a sexy young man to be carting around what looks like his grandfather. I'll blow the whole case."

It was at that part where Sherlock finally understood the problem.

"Oh, John…" He breathed, eyes going soft and leaning in close. John shot him a worried glance, flushing a bright red at the sheer emotion painted across Sherlock's face.

"Do… Do you want to stay in tonight?" Sherlock asked timidly, crowding himself in John's space like he always did to try and alleviate some of John's pain. "I'll make that curry you like. And I won't burn anything. I promise."

John blinked, taking a small step back only to have Sherlock rush in the space he had previously occupied. "Um… well, if you'd like- Well ah, um, your case? And you know… I don't want you to- ah," John stuttered, scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly and shuffling about, his arms dropping down to fiddle at his sleeves. Sherlock leaned in even closer, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips to John's temple. His hands slid down John's arms, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his oatmeal-colored jumper and tugging ever-so-slightly.

It was a technique Sherlock rarely ever used, and it only followed when John was feeling insecure about himself. It wasn't often that John wasn't in absolute BAMF mode, and he was prepared to drop a case or two (under level 7 of course) for a bit to console his disheartened lover. He led John over to the kitchen, depositing him near the oven to bustle around collecting ingredients.

"Sherlock?" John grinned, fiddling with the oven knobs to attempt to help his distracted lover.

"Hmm?" Sherlock's head popped out from around the fridge, a packet of curry paste tucked between his teeth and arms full of potatoes and meat.

John positively _beamed_ at that point, fighting down giggles and turning to collect pots for Sherlock, pouring oil in one and filling the other with rice and water.

_I like this,_ John thought, peeking at Sherlock over his shoulder fondly. _It's strangely domestic._

Sherlock looked up, biting his lip to keep from smiling.

John looked away, flushing slightly. "Shut up." John muttered, smiling like a schoolgirl, stirring the rice and shuffling over a bit when Sherlock comes over with the paste and chopped potatoes and meat.

It was a comfortable silence, filled only with the sound of sizzling food and the shuffling about of Sherlock or John.

"John" Sherlock started, pressing his hip to John's in a strange attempt to get his attention.

"Yes?" John pressed back, turning it into a back and forth of hip bumps.

"I, er, Iloveyou" Sherlock jumbled, flushing slightly and looking away. "And I don't think anything about our age gap. You're you and I'm me and I think that is all that really matters, right?" He poked at the potatoes, debating on whether or not the food was done. He spared a glance at John, inhaling sharply at the look on his face.

"Are you crying?"

"Of course I am, you absolute berk. That was, uh, very good. Very good indeed." John wiped at his eyes quickly, smiling softly and turning his attention back to the rice.

oOoOo

It wasn't until the end of dinner that John figured out what Sherlock wanted from him, and he decided to alleviate some of Sherlock's worry the only way he knew how.

He would pop in a movie and seduce the hell out of him.

_Yes. That sounds good._ John thought, looking back at Sherlock nestled on the couch. He finished up washing the dishes, wiping his hands on his trousers as he made his way over to Sherlock. He made a quick detour to the TV, popping in the nearest DVD and walked over to the couch, plopping down and leaning slightly against the taller man. Sherlock reacted immediately, wrapping his arm around John's shoulders as the movie began to play.

oOoOo

"_This movie is terrible_…" Sherlock mumbled, fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm on John's left shoulder. He paused, looking down when he felt John's fingertips slide across his leg to the inner part of his thigh.

"Hmm?" John hummed, kneading his fingers into the most sensitive areas of Sherlock's legs, smiling slightly when he felt Sherlock readjust himself. He slid his hand up higher, brushing lightly across the crotch of Sherlock's tight trousers. Sherlock reacted immediately, dropping his head to John's shoulder and gasping softly in his ear.

Oh yeah. Two can play that game. Sherlock tightened the arm that was draped over John's shoulders, canting his hips and nibbling on John's earlobe.

John groaned softly, twisting his body to push Sherlock back into the cushions, sticking his thumbs under his shirt and pulling it up and over his head. He looked down, grinning when he saw the look on Sherlock's face, a delicious mix of lust and surprise.

"Have… have you been working out?" Sherlock gasped as John shuffled a bit over him, flexing his muscles and winking down at him.

"Yeah, but only a couple of times a week. I missed my army stomach." John said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck briefly before looking back down at Sherlock.

"And arms…" Sherlock purred, a sound that went straight to John's groin, and was punctuated by Sherlock digging his fingers into the backs of John's thighs and using them as leverage to thrust almost violently upwards.

"_God_, Sherlock!" John gasped, pressing his hips down and leaning down for a kiss. He sucked Sherlock's bottom lip, smiling when Sherlock opened his mouth immediately and raised his arms to crush John against his body.

It went on for a bit longer, John and Sherlock fighting for dominance and thrusting hips and swallowed moans until neither could take it any longer and then there were hands _everywhere_.

John had wiggled his fingers into the hem of Sherlock's tight trousers, _damn why were all of his trousers so fucking tight ugh_ and Sherlock had both hands on John's tight arse and it was exactly at that moment when Ms. Hudson walked in.

oOoOo

WHY AM I SO GOOD AT COCKBLOCKING.

Geez. I am so sorry, everyone.

Expect the last chapter soon maybe perhaps I'll try.


	2. Chapter 2

OKAY HERE WE GOOOOOOOO

Disclaimer: 2nd verse, same as the 1st AND I HAAAAATE IT.

oOoOo

Ms. Hudson comes in with guns already blazing; mid rant about noise and _shutting the heavens up because it is nearly midnight on a bleeding Wednesday and there's absolutely no_

Oh.

John and Sherlock look up slowly, blood draining from John's face while his lanky boyfriend slowly blushes.

Ms. Hudson gives them both a very cross look, and is neither amused nor embarrassed.

"I understand you two love each other and enjoy loud, passionate love-making, but God help me I will assign you obnoxiously loud boys hours that are more convenient for this sort of thing because you two can't seem to realize that _now is not a good time. Now go to sleep._"

The last bit of her tirade is sort of growled at Sherlock and John and they comply immediately, zipping up trousers and the awkward silence is only filled with _Oh God, Sherlock, where is my shirt?_ and_ Damnit John I have no idea_ and other sort of embarrassed whispers that Ms. H locks away for her lunch date with her friend tomorrow. She may be irritated now but her boys _do_ make for good stories.

With a satisfied nod Ms. Hudson marches back downstairs, damn near _slamming_ the door behind her because she fucking _owns_ the place so she'll slam as many doors as she damn well pleases. Yeah. She will. She nods again, stifling a yawn as she makes her way to her apartment in silence.

John and Sherlock have not moved since Ms. Hudson left. They sit in dead silence on the couch, barely even breathing.

And when they hear the door slam they pounce.

"Sherlock Sherlock _shhhh._" John mutters, pressing his lips to his lover's neck and biting _hard_. Sherlock groans immediately, springing off the couch and dragging John to his upstairs bedroom. They've found over the years that Ms. Hudson can't hear them from upstairs unless they're being _absolutely fucking ridiculously loud_ which only happens after a long case and Ms. Hudson knows to clear out then.

Once the door is shut firmly behind them, _softly, shh John or she'll come back here before I can even get you off_, everything is hands and tongues and _oh fuck_ _get that hand out of my pants unless you're going to stop teasing you fucking wanker_.

They collapsed in a heap on John's bed, undoing the other's buttons and pressing heated kisses to revealed skin, with soft gasps and insistent grinding of hips until neither can take it any longer.

John rolled over, snatching the nearly-empty bottle of lube before turning back to Sherlock with a gleam in his eyes. He pops open the tube, spreading a liberal amount onto his fingers and palm as Sherlock makes short work of his trousers and pants. They've got to be quiet, but _damn_ is it hard.

Like them.

Sherlock sniggers abruptly, perching in John's lap before dropping kisses to John's mouth. He pauses when he feels fingers in him, searching for that one- _ahh._

Sherlock presses his face into John's good shoulder, gasping quietly and nibbling at the skin he found there, sucking and pressing himself _down down down_ onto those _fingers_ and _ohh!_ they were not going to last long tonight.

Not. At. All.

He whimpers, _nonono false! It was _manly_, damnit_, when John removes his fingers but stops immediately when he feels something hard and hot poke gently at his entrance. He waits patiently for John to align himself and start to press in before tightly gripping John's shoulders and damn near _slamming_ himself down.

John choked, forcing air in his almost collapsed lungs, but _oh_ everything was collapsing and he was _drowning_ in Sherlock, literally, metaphysically, sym- ah, fuck it. His brain is fried.

He opened his mouth to speak, unidentifiable syllables falling from his mouth like hail, eyes rolling back in utter fucking _bliss_ as Sherlock takes off like a rocket, only to slow considerably as the bed squeaks loudly. He makes up for speed with intensity, and _fuck_ John thinks to warn everyone he knows to _never ever_ sleep with someone who remembers _literally fucking everything_ because _damn_ he knows _exactly_ what to do to light every single one of John's nerve endings on fire.

John manages to crack an eye open to see Sherlock shifting slowly above him, rolling his hips sensually, like a fucking belly dancer and biting his lip and ohfuckohfuckohfuck one hand comes up to lazily toy with his dusky nipples as the other slowly jerks himself off. His eyes are black with thin rings of silvery-blue around the edges and _ohh goddd_ they droop and John realizes with a start that Sherlock has perfected the art of making bedroom eyes as well as making love.

oOoOo

If John died right now he'd be perfectly all right with it. In fact, he doesn't even know how he's still holding on. Sherlock seems to be closer to the edge, gripping himself just a _bit_ tighter and pressing himself into John's lap like his life _depended_ on it.

At this point in time, it really did.

The only sound that fills the air is the sound of skin on skin, and soft gasps.

It's at this point that John finally clicks into action. He's almost embarrassed at the length of time it took for him to get his shit together but he makes up for it.

He forces his eyes open, unclenching his hands from their death grip on the sheets to place them on Sherlock's hips. He gives the taller man a small smirk before lifting Sherlock slightly higher than usual then pulled him back down while thrusting his hips almost violently up. Sherlock's hands go slack _immediately_, mouth falling into a perfect "O," eyes fluttering shut and rolling back as John repeats the action.

He's out of commission for a length of time that makes John immensely proud before barely getting enough control of himself to resume wanking.

They only last another minute, John snapping his hips up forcefully a few more times and damn near blacking out as he comes. Sherlock chooses to just fall forward, absolutely boneless into John's arms. Squished between them is Sherlock's still-hard cock, to which he shifts once and comes like he's never came in his life.

The feeling that comes afterwards is nothing John or Sherlock have ever felt before.

John feels complete.

Sherlock feels as though his brain has finally been shut off.

He initiates the clean-off, rummaging around lazily for a shirt and swiping at the sticky mess between them and on himself, wincing as he does so before throwing it to the side.

John realizes with a start that neither he nor Sherlock had spoken for a better part of a half hour. He faces Sherlock, smiling softly in the way that damn near breaks Sherlock's heart every time he sees it. Sherlock flushes, swollen bottom lip gently drawn into his mouth as he returns it.

They shuffle into the sheets, getting comfortable the only way they know how: completely and totally wrapped around the other.

Sherlock clears his throat gently.

"Hmm?" John mumbles, stroking the taller man's back gently as he struggles to comprehend what Sherlock's saying. He can barely make out an "I love you" to which he repeats softly, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's.

"John, one more thing." Sherlock persists.

"Hmmmmm?"

"That was totally worth skipping a case. I'm glad I didn't take you to the club because everyone would have been annoyingly jealous of me."

Needless to say, John falls asleep with the darkest blush Sherlock had ever seen.

oOoOo

Damn! That was hella painful. Sorry D:

And I don't think the positions make much sense but SHUT UP IT'S TOTALLY FINE.

AND WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ALL THE DIALOGUE. AUGHHHH.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU

Especially nofirewithoutsparks for those absolutely _glowing_ reviews and Mirith Griffin, for, well. You know. BEING AWESOME.


End file.
